


He likes to entertain

by Anonymous



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Lots of hair mentions, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Every day he sees him just doing his own things. Eating, speaking on the phone, doing his little paintings, rummaging the boxes he still doesn’t unpack after weeks of moving there. And more importantly: he watches him getting changed.Seeing him choosing between his ratty shirts: the Slayer one, the Star Wars one, the one that has a bleach stain and holes, the one that doesn’t have a bleach stain but has holes, feels so comforting. It’s like watching a routine unraveling in front of him. A beautiful way to appreciate the human body. A way to analyze an individual in his most domestic state of living. In a way, is a meaningful exercise in existentialism.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61
Collections: Bandom Kink Meme





	He likes to entertain

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [bandomkinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bandomkinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>    
> Frank watches Gerard get changed almost every day, just outside his window. Gerard kinda knows.
> 
> inspiration from Voyeur by blink-182
> 
> "And when the day ends I'm sure she feels sorrow  
> The lonely guy I am, I wait for her change  
> I've been here two days, I'll sure be here tomorrow  
> I'd eat her out if she were on my dinner plate
> 
> I've been here two days, and I'll sure be here tomorrow  
> My lady's so sweet, she likes to entertain"

There are a lot of things Frank hates about his apartment. Is expensive as fuck, is small (even for Frank), is noisy and the street below him smells like a trashcan. But the worst thing right now is that the AC just broke just in the middle of one of the most scorching heat waves in decades. Of course, calling his snotty landlord isn’t really an option since Frank is sure he stopped picking up the phone after he complained about the issue for weeks.

What he likes about his apartment is his neighbor. Gerard. 

Every day he sees him just doing his own things. Eating, speaking on the phone, doing his little paintings, rummaging the boxes he still doesn’t unpack after weeks of moving there. And more importantly: he watches him getting changed. 

It’s more than feeling the rush of watching a glimpse of a stranger’s skin. It’s more than seeing his fleshy arms fumbling around when he looks for pants. More than longing for touching his soft stomach. More than observing him make a poor attempt to tame the nest he has for hair. And definitely is way more than appreciating that piece of ass he has. It’s so much more than that. 

Seeing him choosing between his ratty shirts: the Slayer one, the Star Wars one, the one that has a bleach stain and holes, the one that doesn’t have a bleach stain but has holes, feels so comforting. It’s like watching a routine unraveling in front of him. A beautiful way to appreciate the human body. A way to analyze an individual in his most domestic state of living. In a way, is a meaningful exercise in existentialism. 

And to be completely fair, he kinda suspects Gerard can see him too. 

Ok, maybe he is being delusional. He _hopes_ Gerard can see him. But how else could Frank explain that, even though Gerard gets kinda shy about removing his shirt, he peels out off his briefs so painfully slow? Like he wants to show Frank how much he likes to bend to present his best asset. On the other side, he also seems to be really careful to not show up his junk, angling himself perfectly to maintain his cock veiled, protected. 

Watching him changing clothes for the first time was an accident. He can swear on that. But, keep on watching? Not so much. Jerking off thinking about that? Neither. Get to know his routines? Definitely no. Inducing himself into extremely vivid daydreams about rimming the fuck out of that ass? Nope. Ringing all the apartment’s buzzers from that building just to know his name? Uh...

Frank knows what he is doing is way too creepy. Even for his own standard. Yes, he is a creepy person in general but this may be too much. But, again, he can’t help it. And he doesn’t need to tell anybody. It’s like his own little dirty secret he keeps in case he needs to blackmail himself. 

“Fuck”

Frank roams in his bed trying to find the coldest spot if that is even possible in this sauna called his apartment in the middle of the night. He gives up and tries a different approach: meditation. Mind over body. Heat is just a state of mind. Unless... it is too hot and the pillow starts to get wet again. Change of plans. He is going to fantasize about his neighbor and go to his happy place. Ah, yes. His hand goes to his crotch. But, ugh, why is everything so fucking damp. 

“C’mon” Frank lets out a loud groan, wrapping his fingers around his still limp dick. He doesn’t want to tease himself too much. Is just a quick fix. But, nope, it’s too fucking suffocating. It’s impossible to even move his wrist without breaking a sweat. 

He glances at his alarm clock. 4 AM. 

With the idea of rehydrating himself after his failed, miserable jerk off session, Frank gets up and goes to the kitchen. He opens the old fridge just to find out he is out of Coke Zero. How much pain must a man endure in one night? He thinks. But tries to be not so melodramatic since he has a really cold bottle of water instead. That will do. 

He stands there and drinks it, enjoying the chilly breeze coming off the fridge. That cannot be good for the environment but he pretends he doesn’t care. And before finishing up, he puts the bottle against his forehead. Replacing the wetness of his sweat for something cooler.

And then he sees it. 

At first, his eyes have trouble adjusting to the dim lights until he recognizes a silhouette roaming in the apartment in front of him. Frank’s heart races up. He squints until he can clearly see his neighbor, Gerard, scratching his head and yawning. Despite this being one of the hottest nights in years, Gerard still keeps on his underwear and one of his ratty shirts. Ah, the Slayer one. His favorite. The whole summer look comes to life with a messy bun that’s about to fall apart. 

Frank can’t help but feel somewhat moved when he realizes Gerard isn’t able to sleep because of the heat, too. In a way, this brings both together. To suffer. 

But he also feels kinda bad for doing this. For watching him like that. Yeah, he watches him getting changed on the regular. Right, he also jerks off thinking about that. But this is different. Frank knows he needs to give him some privacy at least but he can’t. Plus, he was thinking about watching some rom-com rerun but seeing Gerard doing, uh, sitting on the sofa doom-scrolling on his phone is way more interesting. 

A minute pass and Gerard’s ponytail falls apart but he doesn’t seem to mind fixing it. Instead, he slouches on the sofa, keeping his phone close to his face, making Frank able to see the details of his face. The delicate nose, his small button-like mouth, and his face glistening from the sweat, with some hair strands stuck in his forehead and cheek. 

Frank feels a knot in his stomach when Gerard frowns and bites his lip. Frank’s eyes go to Gerard’s free hand, the one that was resting on his stomach is now lifting his shirt, exposing some skin. Frank knows he shouldn’t be doing that. He is still in time to not watch but _he can’t_ , pushing his own limits feels so fucking good, it makes him unable to unglue his eyes from Gerard’s face, which is clearly even more flushed than before. Frank gasps when he sees Gerard’s hand palming his bulge. And oh, fuck. It’s a big one. Noticeable even in the darkness, in that black underwear. Gerard really is a triple threat. Huge ass, huge cock, huge thighs. Frank’s mouth water at the idea of not being able to decide which part he would like to taste first if presented the opportunity. 

It isn’t until Gerard slides his hand into his underwear that Frank realizes he is about to pass out for holding his own breath. Like, he is afraid to be heard. He tries to ground himself into reality. He is in his own apartment, protected by the darkness, perfectly hidden. Well, at least he is 89% sure he remains unnoticeable. He is a fucking ninja. He can do whatever he wants. He can do so many things. 

He is about to just straight up fucking his own hand when Gerard puts his phone on the side and slides off his underwear. Frank sighs and tries to imitate what Gerard is doing, his own hand caressing his stomach until it makes its way to his throbbing crotch. He wants to enjoy the show but he also wants to feel this _with_ him. Frank wraps his fingers tighter around his dick when he stares at Gerard’s cock It’s hard and thick, and the wiry unkempt hair matches the mess of Gerard’s head. And Frank just _swallows_ , trying not to choke with his own saliva analyzing every little spot, the milky thighs he wants to bite, the wide hips, the delicate hand first twirling, playing with the hair to then crawl on his dick, not jerking it off, just holding it firmly. Frank feels his eyes dry and hurting, convinced he can go fucking blind for staring this long so hard but he doesn’t care anymore. This is so fucking worth it. 

Gerard shuts his eyes, in an almost painful expression when he finally manages to stroke himself. He is slow, he takes his sweet time and Frank likes it. He looks so fucking delicious like that. 

But then Gerard opens his eyes, gazing directly in Frank’s direction and Frank _feels it_. The scorching sensation of someone observing you. It’s not the heat wave. Gerard saw him. 

It takes Frank a fraction of a second to get down on the floor. His knees hurt but his face fucking burns. He tries to calm himself and fucking breathe but he is too far away to be limp again and he curses himself for being like this. 

“Fuck” Frank murmurs. He thinks so many things at the same time: calling Toro first thing in the morning (so in like, in two hours) to prepare his funeral because he is going to die from embarrassment. Well, he kinda deserves it because the most persistent thought he has right now is to look back at Gerard regardless of what just happened. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was just a reflex, like cats staring at nothing just because. Maybe.

It takes a lot of guts for Frank to stand up again but he does it anyway. He peeks out his head, trying to be discreet. 

This time, his vision takes less time to see what’s going on because the lights on the apartment are on. But Gerard is still on the sofa, on his knees, with his hands over his lap, like he is waiting for Frank to appear again. 

Frank is not sure if Gerard can really see him as clearly as he does now, but when Frank catches a subtle grin on Gerard’s face, everything makes sense. 

He always knew. 

Frank is glad he isn’t touching his dick at this moment because he is sure he would have combusted in the spot. Instead, he groans loudly. His hand reaches the base of his cock once again, slowly this time. He wants to make it last but he is sure that’s too much to ask. He is too over the edge already. 

His eyes lock onto Gerard’s. He smiles again and then leans back, still on his knees to showcase his thick thighs. His cock is still hard but his hands choose to wander around his legs enjoying himself, letting Frank watch. He seems like he wants to take his time, too. 

Frank realizes that keeping his underwear is useless at this point so he removes it, allowing his free hand to play with his testicles. He kinda gets lost in his own sensations, still too overwhelming to completely grasp what the fuck is going on. On how he got so lucky to be the neighbor of the exhibitionist nerd guy. He looks backs at Gerard. He is playing with his shirt, removing it slowly until it gives Frank a view of his whole naked body for the first time. His cheeks rosy, his gaze down, almost shy. Yup, there’s no way he doesn’t know he is being watched, and there’s no way he doesn’t enjoy being watched. Frank tries to contain his hips from thrusting his fist faster but Gerard doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to be glad about Frank’s desperation, his fingers lingering on his nipples now, playing with them, making his eyes close and his mouth open in an almost too obscene way. Fuck, Frank can only imagine the filthy sounds that mouth can make. 

When it gets too much, Frank leans on the window, using his free hand to get some extra support. His knees are about to give up, he cannot jerk off faster and he is about to lose his goddamn mind. He needs _more_. 

Gerard gets the memo somehow. Frank isn’t sure how. But he stops teasing around. No time for more foreplay. None of them need it at this point. Gerard lies down, his hand grabs his cock and moves it frantically. The other hand goes for his chest and neck first, loosely gripping himself in a playful manner. Then, it goes up to fist his own hair. It stays there while he keeps fastening his pace, pulling it harder. 

Frank gets closer to the window, moving his dick against the cold glass, smearing his precum against it, making a mess. It sends chills to his spine, both a relief for the heat and for his aching dick. He isn’t sure Gerard can see this in detail but surely does something for him because he spreads his legs, even more, raising them up, giving Frank a prime view of his entrance, sack, and dick. Holy fuck. This guy really enjoys putting up a show. Gerard goes even further when he frees his hand from pulling his hair to grab his asscheek, presenting his hole to Frank. Like saying “hey stranger, your cock belongs _here_ ” 

Frank’s hair is fucking wet again but he doesn’t fucking care anymore. His face is also getting damp from the fog on the window, too. It should be uncomfortable, he could take 3 seconds to tuck the strands of hair behind his ears and wipe off the sweat but he cannot possibly think about anything else. He cannot _do_ anything else except keep thrusting his hand. He is about to burst into the fucking glass. All exposed, exhibiting himself like the desperate pervert he is. 

He is so close, he can feel it in the pit of his stomach, in his face firing it up. He tries to focus on Gerard again, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. He doesn’t want to miss the stellar part of the show. Gerard’s erratic movements and his half-open eyes suggest he is close too. Gerard scrunches his face until he buckles his hips up and lets himself go, spilling all over his stomach and hand. Gerard trembles, both his hips and legs twitching but still not unwrapping his hand from his length. His slack expression not only reflects relief but surprise too. 

Frank is about to explode, thinking this cannot get any better until Gerard, almost instantly, licks his fingers cleaning himself up. Not for him, but for Frank. Frank tightens his grip and when he is about to pick up the pace again, he slows down suddenly. He groans, almost choking until the splatters of cum ruin the window one thick rope at a time. His orgasm is so strong and long he gets dizzy, almost high. He leans on the dirty window once again, his forearms both functioning as a cushion for his head and as a support for his trembling body.

When he is back, he sees Gerard stroking himself lazily, his flushed chest moving as frantically as Frank does. They are both tired, trying to catch up with their breath. Frank has never run a marathon before but he is pretty sure this is how it feels and they haven’t even fucked. They haven’t even touched. Gerard doesn’t even know Frank’s name. 

When Frank stops panting, he feels unsure about what to do next so he keeps his glance glued on Gerard, waiting for him to make the next move. Gerard, still covered in his cum, not even minding how of a mess he is, furrows on the sofa, lying on his stomach, smiling at Frank. He pats one, two, three times the free space next to him while he twirls his hair.

Frank doesn’t need another hint. He grabs his shorts, sneakers, and a hoodie. He doesn’t even mind grabbing a shirt. He is in a hurry. Plus, he always liked that Slayer one. He can borrow it now, for sure. 

**Author's Note:**

> this prompt taunted me


End file.
